


When You Pull Me Closer, I Come to Life

by The_Glittery_Hedgehog_Ninja



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Magic, Magical World, kinda drabbley
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-18
Packaged: 2019-03-31 13:37:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13976247
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Glittery_Hedgehog_Ninja/pseuds/The_Glittery_Hedgehog_Ninja
Summary: Ten times revisiting Oriande was all it took for them to realize that strict, nonromantic, diplomacy lost its merit a long time ago.Lotura.Very short chapters.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Too long to be a drabble, too short to be a full-ass chapter. Take it as what you will.

When he was emperor and she was a Paladin and they’d both stopped reeling after the magnitude of the White Lion’s acceptance and rejection, Lotor asked her—" _if it were at all possible_ "—for them to revisit the magical Altean realm of Oriande once more.

She’d been wary at first, considering he’d been quiet on why their first trip had been a failure for him, but had eventually conceded since after Zarkon’s death, life as a Paladin had become ( _slightly_ ) tedious.  

The first time since their initial calling had been no different from the monotony on the castleship—that it to say, it was incredibly uninteresting.  She had no one but herself to blame, considering it was _her_ who had offered him ancient Altean readings, which Lotor would pore through under one of the shimmering willow trees with such a ferocity as if the books had not lasted for ten thousand years and would refrain from lasting ten thousand more.  

Allura would sit under the tree across from him, completely and utterly disinterested from the texts that she had read countless times—instead, carefully weaving flower crowns from the countless pink blossoms that adorned every plant in Oriande.  She always wove two—one for her and one for Lotor, although he would never know it.

She yearned to put his crown on his head, just as she had, but the intensity in which he read sent guilty pangs in her stomach for wanting to bother him.  Instead, she placed her own flower crown on her head and hooked the other one on a low branch of the willow under which she sat.  

This would mark the first of their times in Oriande.  


	2. Chapter 2

The second visit to Oriande was again, born of Lotor's request.  He had had a dream—a dream of a magnificent White Lion, its eyes glowing black with rejection; though he was not wont to admit it, the dream had terrified him to the core.  He despised the Galra militarism that had been ingrained in him from birth and yearned to connect more with what he imagined to be a more diplomatic, Altean side.  It was for his innate Galran ideals that the White Lion had rejected him, yes?

He had pored over all the detailed Altean texts that Allura had bequeathed him, greedy for the knowledge that the tomes held within, but he still was not satisfied.

So it was on this second visit that Lotor asked Allura to tutor him in her native language.

"Let us start with something simple," Allura suggested, as she sat across from him in a small grove of weeping willows.  She had previously busied herself by creating intricate flower crowns from the blossoms that dotted the ground surrounding them but had put them away to divulge her attention toward their lesson.  "Seké _oum_  treple.  _Let us make peace together_."

Ah.  That was quite the visceral Altean viewpoint, and Lotor was quick to take note.  "Seké oum treple," he repeated.

A deep blush spread across Allura's face and she quickly went back to diverting her attention toward her flower crown; she was careful not to meet his gaze.  "Seké  _oum_  treple," she replied, her voice raising an octave.  "You must enunciate the words correctly or they take on an alternative meaning."

"I see," said Lotor, as he watched her place the crown on her head and start a new one.  Allura's face was still rosy and she still refused to look him in the eye.  "My apologies: Seké  _oum_  treple," he corrected.  He raised an eyebrow.  "Forgive me for asking, Princess, but what is the meaning of the phrase should one not accent the  _oum_ correctly?"

Allura buried her face in her hands.  Her voice was muffled as she groaned, "Let us make babies together."

 _Oh_.


End file.
